Hundred Themes Challenge
by pandabomber
Summary: I'm taking on the 100 Theme Challenge! Newest chapter, Smile, is up. Stan and Gary the Mormon have an extremely intimate moment. Beware- this collection contains plenty of sex and drugs. multiple pairings
1. Introduction

"Hello. I'm Kenny McCormick, and… I'm here because it was my only option."

Some fat woman next to me nodded all knowingly, like she could understand where I was coming from. She obviously didn't.

"Is it because you're an alcoholic, Kenny?" I heard the group leader question. I don't remember his name, but I will always remember those huge magnifying glasses that make him look like a bug.

"No, it's not. I got in trouble with a cop. The judge said I could either go to juvie and be expelled or do community service and go to AA meetings. I'm not an alcoholic."

"But, you are."

"No. No, really, I'm not."

The group leader sighed. "You have to accept your shortcomings, Kenny. Look around you," he said dramatically as he did that stupid arm swooshing thing, gesturing to the other losers in the small AA circle. I was expecting a bigger turnout. I mean, this is small town Colorado we're talking about. The only place with more hicks is the South. "All these people are just like you. We've all struggled with our demons. This is a supportive, safe environment. You don't have to be afraid."

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. I inherited that habit from a close friend, someone who had warned me about this group. "I'm not afraid. I'm not an alcoholic. This was my only option. Really."

"In order to get better, we must… what, everyone?" The leader waited for a response from the group. What is he, a fucking kindergarten teacher?

"Accept that we are powerless…" They all droned back, confident in the words but also kind of dead in feeling. It was creepy.

"Yes, exactly. And we must put our faith in a higher power and accept that only God can help us escape ourselves."

This place was scary as fuck. I just kind of stared at the weird dude for awhile, watched his buggy eyes blink and fidget behind those fat, legally-blind lenses, and considered how to deal with him. I'm not that good at dealing with stupid people. That's more of Kyle's thing. I usually avoid talking to idiots at all cost. But I guess, in desperate times, sacrifices must be made.

"Have you ever seen God?" I ask seriously, the aggression in my voice masked perfectly. I grab my chin to add a more contemplative feel, because I'm classy like that.

"No one has, but I have felt Him. I know His power." Holy shit, this guy is really convinced. I almost feel bad for him. Almost.

"Well, I have. I've also seen the devil. I've saved the earth from damnation a few times, and I've been to heaven more times than I can count. So _you_ want to tell me about God? Give me a break. Try dying a few times before you act like you know jack shit."

He just nodded, his hand also grasping his chin like he was considering philosophy or some shit. "I can see you've experienced pain, Kenny. 'Try dying a few times….' Wow, such striking words. I think we've all felt like that before, haven't we, everyone? Like we've been to hell and back, or like we've used up another cat's life. But that's what these meetings are about. They're about living the fullest with a higher power to guide you."

I don't think my lungs could handle another sigh. "Look, I don't care what higher power you believe in, but stop trying to drag me into it. I'm here because the judge told me to come. It was my first offense, it didn't involve a car, and I'm not going to do it again."

"We all tell ourselves that. 'It won't happen again.' 'I'll only have one drink.' 'I'll only suck his dick for crack money once.'"

…Wait, what?

"But these things happen over and over, Kenny. You can't escape them without help."

"Okay." I rolled my eyes. "My name is Kenny McCormick, and I'm an alcoholic. There, happy?"

"I think the question is, are you, Kenny?"

"Well, I just smoked a fat blunt before coming here, so yeah."


	2. Kick in the Head

"Knock yourself out." Kenny coughed lightly, smoke pouring out of his nostrils.

"Shit, how does this work again?"

"You've smoked before."

"Yeah, with a pipe. Your bong is a fucking monster."

This was true. Kenny may come from a poor family, but he takes his smoking seriously. His bong had the shape of a dragon with stained swirls of color streaming through the glass.

"Okay, okay. Let me help you man." Kenny sighed. His room reeked of burning cannabis. Stan was on his bed, back against the wall and legs stretched across the mattress. His shoes were kicked off and his hat had been chucked across the room.

Stan held the bong to his lips expectantly. Kenny lit him up, telling him exactly what to do step by step until he could take a big hit. "Hold it." Kenny instructed firmly as Stan's face flushed pink, the smoke churning in his throat. "Hold it as long as you can."

Finally, the boy couldn't take it anymore. He broke into a hacking fit and expelled the smoke fiercely. "That's fine," Kenny said gently, patting his friend's back. "If you cough, it'll make the effects stronger."

"Shit," Stan mumbled in between choked coughs. He was half laughing at himself for being such a wuss; Kenny could burn down a bowl without a problem. Then again, Stan couldn't be too hard on himself. Kenny knew more about drugs—and sex, but that was a different matter—than anyone Stan knew. It was common knowledge at school that if someone wanted to get high, they came to Kenny.

People came to Kenny a lot these days. They were teenagers, so finding customers was never a problem. Rumors had started swirling, however, that Kenny was good for more than just trips. For the right price, anything was possible.

Stan was starting to feel sluggish. "Hey…" He called, groggy. "Kenny."

"Hm?" Kenny dragged himself up onto the bed. He was determined to get comfortable, but he was having difficulties. Ultimately, he curled up happily around a pillow, his head resting on Stan's knee. They were close enough friends that the contact was nothing new.

"Let me ask you something." Stan was feeling pretty good. He put one hand on Kenny's head and started lazily scratching his scalp.

"Go ahead." Kenny's parka was still on despite the heat of the room. It was unzipped, and Stan found it extremely funny that he wasn't wearing a shirt underneath. Kenny was so incredibly lazy that if he couldn't find a clean shirt to wear, he wouldn't bother to wear one at all.

"Are you… doing anything I should be concerned about?"

Kenny didn't know what to make of Stan's question. "I do drugs."

"Yeah, me too."

"I do drug deals."

"Yeah, I know."

"I do girls."

"I know that too."

Kenny was quiet for awhile. He was enjoying the scalp massage thoroughly.

"So… what?" He finally asked.

"Are you… well, are you… um…" Stan paused, trying to pick his words. Kenny was in no hurry. There didn't seem to be any delicate way of putting it, so Stan just went for it. "Are you selling yourself?"

There was a long silence. Stan tried again.

"I heard people talking. I didn't believe it, but I'm your friend, so I have to be concerned—"

Suddenly, the blonde boy shot up. "It sounds like something I would do, huh?" Kenny snapped, startling Stan. "Kenny McCormick, the drug dealer and school slut. Why not just add coke whore to the mix?"

"I never thought you were a slut!"

"It's not about what you _think_, Stan," Kenny said acidly. "But the truth is that I'll fuck just about anyone. I love sex. So it just seems natural that I'd become a prostitute."

"Damn it, Kenny," Stan hissed, pressing his palm against his forehead and pushing his dark hair back. "Just tell me. Just give an answer so I can put this whole thing behind us."

Kenny simply smirked. "What do _you_ think, Stan?"

"I thought you didn't care what I thought."

"No, suddenly I'm curious." Kenny crept up the bed towards his friend, his eyes malicious yet playful. "Do you think I'll do anything for money?"

Stan dry swallowed nervously. "I… hope not."

"How much do you think I charge?" Kenny cradled Stan's cheek in one hand; the other drifted to his lower back. "Hypothetically, of course."

"Stop it." Stan frowned. He hated when Kenny got into these moods.

"Come on," Kenny whispered as he nipped at his friend's ear. Stan knew this game. He would ignore him, resist, whatever. Kenny would continue to harass him until Stan became angry, and then Kenny would laugh, triumphant. The second Stan revealed his discomfort and insecurity, Kenny would claim victory.

"Kenny, you're starting to piss me off."

"Don't be a grumpy stoner. I'm just playing."

"I know, but you're pissing me off."

"Well, according to you, I could jerk you off."

"Fuck, Kenny!" Stan shoved his friend enough to stop him from sucking his earlobe. "I never said you were a whore! I never thought you were!"

Kenny smiled, his eyes shining with mischief. "What if I am?"

Stan wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed at the moment. He was pretty damned baked. It took him a moment to comprehend what Kenny had meant. "W-what? You…" Stan trailed off, stunned.

Kenny couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's inability to speak. "Uh-huh. I am a whore." Kenny traced up Stan's collarbone to his Adam's apple with his tongue. "…Maybe."

Stan did nothing to shove him off as he sucked at his neck. The game had never gone this far, but Stan had never put off smacking Kenny for so long. Stan gasped lightly as Kenny nibbled his jaw line.

"Man, you must be fucking stoned off your ass," Kenny remarked amusedly. "You haven't punched me in the face yet." Just to see if it incited violence, Kenny lifted Stan's shirt and trailed his tongue down from Stan's belly button to the edge of his pants. Sure enough, Stan pushed Kenny roughly. Happy that he had finally won, Kenny grinned up at Stan, expecting to see angry blue eyes glaring back at him.

Stan was staring at him, but he wasn't nearly as angry as Kenny thought. The predominant expression was not fury but embarrassment. Stan's eyebrows were crinkled in the most adorable way, like he had been caught doing something naughty. While one of his hands lingered on Kenny's shoulder, the other had flown to cover his face in a failed attempt to hide a burning blush. Kenny was stoned too, but he was no idiot. He knew that look.

Without a word, Kenny shrugged Stan's hand off his shoulder and grabbed his hips. He peeled Stan's shirt off expertly, and to his amazement, Stan did not protest. Kenny kissed from Stan's stomach down, pausing only below his belly button to leave a bright red suck mark. As he left the hickey, his fingers worked to unbutton and unzip Stan's pants.

"K-Kenny…" Stan grabbed a handful of blonde hair and forced him to look up. "Don't."

Kenny smiled. What a pathetic attempt, he thought. "We're just friends; what does it matter?"

"This isn't what friends do."

"Who says?"

"It might change things."

Kenny would have laughed again, but Stan was honestly concerned. "It might. But I won't let you be embarrassed. I won't let anything take you away from me like that." Stan blushed again. He was still unsure, and Kenny could tell. Hoping to calm him down, Kenny whispered in his ear. "Besides, at this point…" He gently laid his hand against Stan's growing bulge. Obviously, the words of comfort disappeared the second Stan's boner showed up. "…you're hard. I made you hard, Stan. Isn't that enough to ruin normal friendships?"

"Ugh, don't…" Stan shuddered, "don't touch it like that."

"Or what? You'll get harder? We've crossed the line already, Stan. Now stop squirming and let me fuck you."

"F-Fuck me?"

"You heard me." Kenny laid tender kisses on Stan's neck, grinning like a fool. He was having far too much fun. "Don't worry…"

Stan's heart was working overtime as he felt Kenny work his hand slowly into his boxers, one finger at a time. Each tiny touch from Kenny's fingertip sent sparks through Stan's body— and set off alarms in his head.

"Wait, Kenny…" Stan gently placed his hand on Kenny's wrist, but his head was tilted to give the blond full access to his neck. The poor boy was giving mixed signals all over the place.

"I told you, you don't have to worry…" Kenny reassured as he inched back down the bed, planting a kiss for each movement down Stan's chest and stomach. He sucked on Stan's hipbone shamelessly; he wanted to bite, but he knew that would be too much for the sensitive jock.

"No, really, wait."

"Stan…" Kenny grabbed the hems on Stan's hips, tugged lightly, and got ready for a face full of hard cock.

"I said WAIT!"

* * *

Kenny opened his eyes groggily. What the fuck had happened? He remembered a hot, blushing Stan under him… was there sex? No, he'd remember that… Well, there were only a few options. Either he had passed out from the weed—unlikely—or Stan had a massive penis that knocked Kenny out immediately upon being released.

"Dude, are you awake?"

"Ugh…" Kenny squeezed his temples as he sat up. "The fuck, man…"

"I'm so sorry, dude…" Stan handed him water. "But, I told you to wait."

"What the fuck did you do?"

"I, uh… kicked you in the head."

Kenny glared at him through gulps.

Stan's voice raised defensively. "I did say to wait!"

The blond sighed. "I admit, I took it far, but… damn."

Neither of them spoke for a long time. Nothing had really happened; they hadn't even kissed on the lips. But something between them had definitely changed.

All it took was a kick in the head.


	3. Love

This little thing has been rotting in my computer for a while now. It needs to see the light of day.

This is the second theme on the list, LOVE. I skipped it and came back to it because I wanted to write some stenny.

I love style, but I hardly ever write them. I'm always afraid I'm going to fuck it up or something. This thing is just a little snibit, so maybe I won't fail so hard.

This plot is shamelessly ripped from cheesy cliches. You've been warned.

* * *

"Stan."

He cranked the volume up.

"Stan!"

The shuffle had chosen a very loud song.

"Hey!" Kyle tugged one of the speakers from his best friend's ear and let it go suddenly, allowing it to snap back irritatingly.

"What?" Stan shrugged his headphones off.

"You're supposed to be studying!"

"Ugh." Their final was in two days, and Stan had not begun to cram. He was in dangerous territory: if he did badly, he would get a C; if he did well, he would hold his low B and get a reasonably good report card. Kyle had the highest grade in the class. He could get a fat D on the final and do just fine. Despite that, he was devoting plenty of time to his textbooks, and most of all to helping Stan prepare. Well, trying to help him.

Stan sat at his desk with a single unopened notebook in front of him. With the music shut off, Kyle returned to his previous spot leaning against the foot of Stan's bed, his materials scattered all around him. "I had to trudge through the snow with all my books just to get here."

"I didn't invite you over!"

"You asked for my help."

"Yeah," Stan grumbled, "but I didn't ask for a study session."

"Stan," Kyle said slowly in his dangerous tone that Stan knew well. "You've been copying off me all year." Kyle raised his eyebrow and glared. "Can't you at least spare me for the final?"

Stan hated when Kyle used guilt trips. Usually, they worked. It was lucky for Stan that Kyle usually didn't scold or lecture him.

"Problem is, I've been copying your stuff all year, so I know absolutely nothing!" He threw his hands up in frustration. "The few times I tried by myself, I did horribly! That's why I have a lower grade than you!"

"You didn't _try_," Kyle corrected, rolling his eyes.

"I couldn't try because I didn't know anything."

"Well, learn something now!" Kyle chucked one of the smaller books at him. It collided with the back of Stan's head perfectly.

At first, Stan didn't react. He just fit his earphones back on snugly. Kyle chucked another book. "Ow! Fuck you!"

"Fuck you!" Kyle replied wittily. "Study!" This time, he tossed an eraser.

"Ow, Kyle! No!"

"Study! Stop being so lazy!"

"Why did you let me cheat off of you this whole time? Now I don't know shit."

"Don't blame this on me."

"Yeah, well, stop letting me take advantage of you." Stan turned his music back on. Kyle could hear the muted beats from where he was a few feet away.

He knew that Stan's finishing sentence had not been very serious. Sure, Stan occasionally borrowed his homework or peeked at his papers. But Stan drove Kyle around and bought him food when Kyle was too thrifty to treat himself. Their friendship was built on equality. And even if it wasn't, Kyle was more than happy to help his friend. Stan could ask for anything—absolutely anything—and Kyle would do his best to oblige. Why he would go to such great lengths had been obvious to Kyle for a few years now.

"I love you."

Shit. He had just said that out loud.

Stan hummed along to the music that was obviously blaring in his ears. He was using his pencil as a drumstick against his closed textbook. After a few seconds, he dropped his pencil, sighed, and took his headphones off slowly. "Sorry, man," he said groggily.

For a moment, Kyle was positive that he was about to say something devastating. He couldn't help but blush redder than a tomato. He pushed his glasses up his nose unconsciously, unable to resist the nervous habit.

"Sorry I'm so grouchy." Stan grinned lazily. "I'm too hungry to think straight. I'm getting a sandwich. Want anything?"

It took Kyle a moment to compose an answer. "Uh, yeah, sure. Water's fine."

"'Kay." Stan moved very deliberately out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him.

Kyle sighed deeply, relieved. He was incredibly lucky that Stan hadn't heard his little slip of the tongue. He had to learn to keep his mouth shut.

On the other side of the door, Stan Marsh was blushing madly and trying his best not to lose his lunch.

* * *

pandabomb's comments-

loo loo loo, I've got some apples

loo loo loo, you've got some too

...

FAIL.

I hope you get what happened up there.

... yeah.


	4. Out Cold

Please do enjoy and review if it tickles your fancy.

* * *

Who says teenagers aren't responsible sometimes?

Okay, so drinking myself silly wasn't exactly responsible. But in my defense, midterms were over. I aced those mother fuckers. I spend so much time studying and being perfect that I'm allowed a few indulgences, right? The rest that happened was not my fault. I just reacted to the situation at hand.

I'm talking, of course, about the situation where I put that fat piece of shit in the hospital.

Allow me to put it in context. After midterms, it was still cold as shit, but everyone was in the mood for some celebrating. The best place to have some drinks and party has always been Cartman's house. Nobody likes him, but his mom lets him do whatever he wants, and that includes getting shitfaced in the basement. It was a pretty big group of people that night, girls and guys. Kenny and Cartman were in charge of getting drinks, as usual, and it felt like the place was overflowing with alcohol. Within thirty minutes, everyone was messed up. I think Clyde even puked. I don't know. I just assume that guy pukes every time since he can't understand his limits no matter how often he drinks.

I have to admit, I get a little over the top when I drink. I do it for fun and to make sure I know my limits for college, but there's no denying that it's a little for stress relief as well. I don't sleep much and I'm always drinking so much coffee that I'm wired (it must be like, half of what Tweek drinks, which is a lot). I can handle pressure, but I'm never relaxed. So when I drink, I go a little berserk. Stan is always watching me, worried but mostly trying to be a good friend rather than a babysitter. I can tell he hates when I drink. Maybe it's because every time I do, shit goes down. After that night, I can't blame him.

It's a bit of a blur. I remember chugging beer with Clyde and then watching him rush to the nearest bathroom in an effort to not make a mess of Cartman's floor for the second time. Bebe grabbed my ass or something—that girl can't keep her hands to herself—and I took shots with Stan. We played some drinking games as a group before everyone started doing really stupid shit. There were plenty of people who broke into couples in various parts of the room. I remember the smell of weed as well, probably Kenny's doing. It was the smoke that did it for me. Immediately after catching a whiff of it, my head started swimming. I don't smoke very often, and I definitely don't drink and smoke at one time. Even cigarette smoke makes me feel woozy. I knew at that point that I either needed to change locations or go to sleep. I chose to do both.

I found Stan with much difficulty. It was a single room basement, but with the smoke and the random drunken bodies everywhere, it was like a minefield.

"Dude, I need to call it quits. I'm going to the guest room." I knew Cartman's house well enough that I could find it easily, even drunk and in the dark. Most houses in South Park are built with the same plan anyway.

"You okay, Kyle?" Stan asked considerately. He was always looking out for me.

"Yeah, fine. Just wanted someone to know where I was."

Stan nodded and gave me a light, sheepish smile. "Okay. I'll come check on you soon."

"You'll probably just forget," I brushed him off with a laugh, but I hoped he didn't.

"No way," he said as he laughed fully. I love hearing him laugh. "Go sleep. I'll be in soon to make sure you don't die or something."

"It's not like I'm _that_ drunk…" I rolled my eyes and wobbled off. It's amazing how sober people can act when they need to get something done.

See, teenagers can be responsible as well as idiotic. It's all about knowing when to throw in the towel. I may get wasted when my responsibilities are over, but at least I don't end up hugging a toilet bowl and getting sick afterwards.

It took me a long time to get up to the second floor. Stairs were proving rather difficult at the time. Honestly, I don't remember much of the journey from the basement to the plush carpet of the guest room's floor. I just know I spent a lot of time stumbling and swearing. I don't think Cartman's mom was even home that night. Otherwise, she probably would have made me something chocolate and sugar filled, and I would have had to spend a few minutes drunkenly explaining for the millionth time that I'm diabetic and can't handle Cartman's diet of fat and self-loathing. All I know is that when I finally fell through the door onto the carpet, I had been through a fucking odyssey.

It was rather quiet despite the chaos two floors down. I didn't really want to sleep; I was waiting for Stan to come check on me. I did think he would forget, but I wasn't about to lose hope that he wouldn't. There was a bed in the guest room, but seriously… I don't trust any of the beds in that house. Who knows what STDs lie in wait. I much prefer the ground. After all, that carpet was extremely fluffy. It was like passing out on a marshmallow.

Within a few minutes (I think) I heard the door squeak open. I was a bit surprised. I didn't expect him to check on me so soon. Not that I was complaining.

"Stan?" I whispered (slurred) as I heard him fall to his knees next to me. I was stretched out on the floor and lying on my stomach. Growing up, I was always told that lying on your stomach keeps you from feeling like you're going to puke. It was risky, I guess, since everyone says with alcohol you should stay on your side just in case, but I didn't feel sick at all and I would have felt a sick spell coming.

He was right next to me, but he didn't say anything. He just slipped one hand up the back of my shirt, his hands strangely clammy.

Oh, so it was like that, I remembered thinking. I'm not gay or anything, but I'll admit… Stan and I have made out before. We're really close, okay? We were both really drunk and horny. We just kissed and passed out afterwards. Okay, so it's not like it was only one occasion, but we've seriously only just messed around. We still date girls and stuff. It's just for fun and because we can. We don't discuss it afterwards or address it as a problem. If we talked about it, it would make it seem like something unnatural, which it doesn't feel like… but I don't know. I just don't bring that shit up. When it happens, it happens. No need to dwell in the past.

So that night, I was hoping for Stan to check on me. I went to a different room where I knew we wouldn't be disturbed. Not even the fat ass would leave the party, and there was no way he would find us. Besides, Cartman is a totally useless tool when he's drunk. He has weird ass mood swings and passes out at the slightest bit of stress. There was no problem.

I felt his hands push my shirt up. I helped the process without protest. Before I knew it, my shirt had disappeared into the darkness of the room. I lifted myself onto my knees and attempted to turn. I gasped as I felt a hand shove my back down to the carpet, my arms shuddering and collapsing. I barely cushioned myself and avoided a face plant. With one hand between my shoulder blades keeping me down and another fumbling with the front of my pants, he loomed over me. I wasn't exactly displeased, but I was surprised.

"Stan, let me turn around." I mumbled as his hand found its way into my pants. This was rather new. We had never gone this far so fast before.

He didn't let me move. I groaned as he began to stroke me with a grip that was almost too firm. At first, it was exciting; he was pinning me down and trying hard to make me feel good. But I didn't really like the position much. I was cool with being below him, but I wanted to face him. I wanted to be able to kiss him.

"Stan…" I was being pretty shameless. I stuck my butt in the air as much as possible to give his hand more room to work with. He had shoved my pants down a little so that he could easily speed his hand movements up. "Stan—mm—let me turn around."

He ignored me and just kept going. I was enjoying it, but I was getting pretty pissed that he wasn't listening.

"Stan, listen to me!" I was about to turn my head to scold him when I felt his hand leave my back. Instead of helping me shift positions, however, I felt his fingers clamp over my mouth. I was so shocked by this that I hardly fought it. His hand sped up even more in an effort to shut me up. It didn't work.

Indescribably pissed off, I opened my mouth and let a few fingers fall between my lips. Without hesitation, I bit down on at least two.

That's when it happened. My stomach started to feel terrible—I had to puke, I had to scream, but most of all, a horrible feeling of realization hit me like a freight train.

The fingers tasted like Cheesy Poofs.

That's where my memory gets hazy. I remember a short struggle, since he was pinning me down, but he's never been much of a challenge for me. I wasn't thinking clearly at all. The alcohol mixed with a lifelong hatred had created a monster. I wailed on his fat ass so hard, his face was spewing blood. That carpet went from white to red in a matter of seconds. In the morning, my shoes were splattered with the red stuff as well. I probably kicked him a few times, which describes the broken ribs he got. Honestly, I think it's possible that he passed out when I bit him, because there wasn't even resistance. He's such a piece of shit.

I do remember, however, climbing back down to the basement. I remember seething with rage as I made it to the bottom of the stairs. I remember Stan's concerned and good-looking face asking me what the matter was, seeing the blood on my knuckles, asking where the fat ass was. I told him we had to call an ambulance and get the fuck out. I told him that if I ever saw that fat fuck's face again, I would beat it so hard that no one would ever recognize him.

And it was the truth. I haven't seen him since. He avoids me at school completely because he knows I'll do the same thing if he ever shows his monolithic ass around me again. He fucking knows that if we ever lock eyes again, it will be the last thing he sees before I knock him out cold.

* * *

pandabomb's comments

This is kyman. I hate that shit.

Why did I write it, then? Well, whether I like it or not kyman is... kinda canon. I mean, it's obvious that Cartman has a major boner for Kyle. He ran around for three straight episodes trying to get Kyle to suck his balls. I MEAN COME ON.

So, while I dislike the pairing, I must acknowledge its existence. That said, I DO NOT SUPPORT KYMAN. Kyle and Stan are mother fucking DESTINY and Cartman is a fat piece of shit. I don't care if anyone supports kyman; it really has nothing to do with me. This is my interpretation of the pairing- Cartman trying his best to rape Kyle and Kyle beating the shit out of him.

One of my pet peeves is when people write Cartman in fan fic like he's a normal person with feelings and logic. He's a fucking sociopath, people. HE'S ABSOLUTELY BERSERK. The boy has problems and no amount of time can fix it; he needs discipline and a major kick in the ass. He most likely will become a rapist. Just sayin'.

Okay, rant over. This little drabble, chapter title Out Cold, has officially earned my baby collection an M rating. I think a creepy, cheesy handjob deserves that.

* * *

The following is a little something I added after a comment regarding my dislike of kyman.

Yes, I don't support a pairing, but I am perfectly entitled to write it anyway. I can write it in whichever light I choose, because I'm the fucking author of this fucking piece of shit. Yes, I like style, but that doesn't mean I will foam at the mouth if someone else doesn't like it or writes it in a way that I disapprove of. This is a fandom of crack pairings based loosely on a television show. IT'S NOT REAL. If someone dislikes the content of my absolutely fabricated and mutilated version of these characters, that's too fucking bad. I will gladly take all kinds of feedback, but a request to change my opinions on a pairing or to stop writing about it altogether will be ignored or laughed at.

I've spent far too long babbling. That is all.


	5. Light

I don't know where I am.

Vaguely, I know. I'm in my room. It's dark, but I can see the lights of something outside. Maybe it's a passing car; maybe it's another house… I don't know. All I know is that there is a light. It burns my eyes.

I can hear my pulse. It's chugging along, everywhere, nowhere… I don't know what I'm saying. All I know is that my veins are heavy… like the pill thickened my blood… is that possible? Is that what this is? In a way, I hope that's true. At least then I know why each and every vein is my arm is throbbing. Has blood flow always been this difficult? I don't want to feel it anymore. I wish I could go back to the sweet ignorance of life… we never feel our blood move, do we? We don't think about it. It's just so natural; we forget how wonderful it is that a collection of cells is somehow holding up a collection of thoughts….

This body has done nothing but take beatings. I throw so many hurtful things at it, like I'm trying to combust, and it does nothing but chug along, push liquid around and around, waiting and biding until it can rest.

I'm so sorry.

I blink as my fingers curl in front of my face. I can feel every molecule of air rush past my fingertips. I only thought, how nice it is my hand is so obedient, and there it was, waving. It's waving to me.

We're all just insects on this giant anthill, and these are my antennae.

When did I curl up? My body is recoiling. It doesn't like this.

No, I don't like this… it's me, after all. My body is no alien. Despite that, it seems like it has a mind of its own. Maybe it's trying to protect me.

I can't close my eyes for fear of becoming blank, nothing… if I can't watch the light outside my window, I don't know where I'll go. Oblivion is a scary thing. But the light is so bright, so vivid… it's making my eyes hurt. It's making my head hurt. My body is screaming at the light to stop slamming into me, but it won't move.

I find comfort in its constant pain.

Where did everyone go? I wasn't always alone. There were once people here. They laughed with me and held me, giving me affection and professing love. They promised they would take care of me. I was so happy with them. They accepted me, treated me like a friend. They said they would stay with me.

I loved them all. I gave them enough. They always wanted something from me, and it made me happy. They took from me, and I liked to give. They said, I love you, Kenny… I love you. I'll look out for you. They laughed with me, and they loved my body… this sturdy, beaten body… what did they love? What part of me is so appealing? My mouth, my ass? That's what people seem interested in.

They said they loved me.

Where did they go?

The sun will come soon. But will it shine for me? Will I be here to see it? If I am, will I shrink away from it? I don't think I can take it. My body loves to feel the sun, but not now. Not when my veins are constricted… all by a tiny pill… something I knew was poison, something terrifying, but I ate it anyway….

I'm so sorry.

I'm on my back. I see the dark ceiling above me. It looks like nothing. Wouldn't nothing be wonderful? To forever sleep, without dreams, without feeling?

I don't want to feel anymore.

I hate the dull ache of veins desperately pumping… I hate it.

I don't want to feel anymore.

* * *

pandabomb's comments

Guys... drugs aren't fun and games. I know my fics often involve illicit activities, but I'm no fool. Drugs are bad, mmkay? They will fuck up your body and your mind.

In this drabble, Kenny took a bad hit of ecstacy. That shit will literally melt your brain. It's a surprisingly popular drug despite that fact.

The style reflects the mind of the drugged up, to an extent. It's very difficult to pin that thought processes into a piece, and even harder to generalize about how everyone thinks while doing drugs. Everyone has a different mind. Often, logic is tossed out and everything becomes carnal, but that wouldn't make sense to the sober reader. (I assume you're all sober as you read... if you're not, well... okay then.)

One of the terrible things about drugs is that they promote strong, supportive relationships, but the moment the drug wears off, the closeness is gone and people are strangers once more. It leaves people alone in their most vulnerable time.

Stay in school.


	6. Pain

My body was literally dripping in sweat. I had never felt anything so intense in my life. I've messed around with girls; I've even messed around in some weird ways by myself—but that was new. Nothing could have prepared me for it.

"Are you okay?" Kenny asked, honest concern in his voice.

"It hurts… so fucking… much…" I gripped the sheets desperately. I was biting my lip so hard, it was probably splitting open.

Kenny squeezed my waist with one arm. "I'll pull out."

"No!" I grabbed his hand and entwined our fingers.

"I told you we needed to prepare you a bit more…" He kissed my neck gently, nibbling on my ears as he whispered. "I don't want to hurt you, Kyle."

"Don't…" I shuddered at the slightest movement. "Ugh… Don't take it out…"

His sigh felt like a warm breeze on my ear. "Kyle…" His fingers held mine tightly, but everything else remained motionless. "You don't have to do this. If we keep going, it'll be very painful."

He began to pull out, and I nearly yelled. The friction was close to excruciating. "Aaah—!"

Kenny stopped again. Suddenly, both his arms were wrapped around my chest. He must have been able to feel my heartbeat with his hands. "I'm so sorry, Kyle. I'll never put you through this again."

"You… stupid… IDIOT."

"I know, I know… next time— if you want there to be a next time— we'll swap places."

"Are you STUPID?"

He hugged me tightly, his face buried in my curls. "You probably never want anything to do with me after this, I know. I should have taken better care of you…"

I groaned. "That… isn't… it!"

A second passed. Kenny breathed in my scent, thinking. "…What, then?"

My face flared. I don't blush easily, but in a case like this, when someone is inside me and my entire body is bared, well… I don't know how I can't be embarrassed. Especially because he's forcing me to reveal secrets I've told no one else. "Kenny… I like it."

"But doesn't it hurt?"

He's so dim. "I like… I like it when it hurts."

Kenny was quiet. Without warning, his teeth clamped down on my shoulder mercilessly. It must have drawn a little blood.

"Fuck…!" My arms faltered, sending my face into the balled-up sheets below me. The pain even made my erection harder.

Kenny licked my wounds. "You like that?"

I was panting. It felt so good, I actually forgot to breathe. I didn't answer his question; I just turned my face to look up at him, breathless and dripping with sweat.

"Kenny… I want you to fucking _wreck_ me."

He slammed back into me ruthlessly. It felt so raw, so agonizing, that I almost screamed. My hands scrambled for something to grab— absolutely anything— so frantically that I almost panicked when my hands were too weak to clench the sheets. Somehow, I got hold of a pillow. I dragged it over and buried my face in its soft cushioning. We had used spit to open me up, but it wasn't nearly as effective as lube— I knew it wouldn't be. Kenny has done this stuff before; he knows how to make sure everyone is comfortable. I had insisted on using no lube. I had rushed things, telling him to enter me quickly. I had kept silent when he first pushed himself into me; it hurt so much, so good, that I held my tongue to encourage him.

I had only lost it when he was so deep that I was shaken to the core.

I should have known that Kenny would have been open to my fetish. He would have obliged happily. I didn't need to hide it, to keep it tucked away until I was forced to speak the truth. But some part of me had been hopeful. Maybe, if it does hurt, I'll hate it, like a normal person. I'll wish I had never wanted pain. Maybe, though I wanted it, I would end up so crippled by it that I would be thoroughly punished for my filthy desires.

Now, I was screaming into a pillow as Kenny tore my ass up. And I loved it.

* * *

pandabomb's comments

LOL KYLE LIKES IT UP DA BUTT.

I don't always see Kyle as a masochistic kitty cat. I mean, the boy is feisty. He's quite the badass. But that makes it all the more fun to imagine he enjoys getting pounded. :P

Seriously, there are very few characters who I see as permanent "tops." It's so easy to fit them all in different positions. I mean, they're too young for smexing in the show, so their sexuality is completely at our creepy mercy. /insert evil laugh

It's entirely possible to see a chapter in here with some Kenny/top and Craig/bottom, though I usually write the opposite. Same goes for other couples.

Speaking of couples... K2? It's even more random than stenny! But still delicious, I must say. Honestly, I just wanted somebody to have masochistic sex. I'm evil like that. So I just typed out this piece of crap really fast, and voila!

Enjoy.


	7. Dying

This little thingy is inspired by the recent developments in my favorite show evaaaaar. Kenny is so angsty and delicious, I had to write this.

Why is it K2? Weeeeell, why the fuck not. I'm probably writing stenny next just because I'm in that sort of mood. I love that couple.

Enjoy, and drop me a review if you'd like. I love reviews A LOT.

* * *

"Hey, dude." Kyle greeted me as he walked in. The house was as crappy as usual, but Kyle was used to it. He had been over so often, in fact, that he didn't bother to knock or make his presence known in my house until he was in my room. I didn't mind.

"'Sup." I nodded and killed a cigarette in an ash tray. Kyle hated when I smoked, but he couldn't stop me. However, I didn't smoke anything with him around just to make sure he wouldn't get too pissed. He frowned as the smell assaulted his adorable Jewish nose—which wasn't nearly as big as he thought it was—but he didn't say anything as he made himself comfortable.

"You got the movie, right?" He tossed his jacket and shoes off and lounged back on my bed. It didn't matter how hot it was inside; there was barely anything that could make him take off that green hat. He hated letting his ginger fro free.

"Yeah, I got it," I grabbed the cassette from the ground and held it up. Yes, a cassette. I'm fucking poor, okay?

"Good. 'Cause I didn't bring anything."

"Yeah, no problem," I shrugged and ran my hand through my messy hair. "Stan was busy tonight?"

"Uh-huh. He had some bullshit family event or something."

"Oh." I began to mess with the VCR mindlessly, checking to see if it had something in it already. It didn't, so I slid the cassette in without a problem. Kyle apparently hadn't noticed that the tape had absolutely no labels.

"How the fuck did you get Terrence and Phillip on tape?"

I shrugged again, not bothering to mention that I didn't. He would see soon enough. I scrambled backwards on my hands and knees, finally nestling comfortably against the foot of my bed in front of the old, crappy TV. I didn't want to sit right next to Kyle when the video began.

The tape started playing. As I knew it would, my face immediately appeared on screen, partly covered by my hood. I nearly laughed as I watched myself messing with the camera on screen, only my idiotic facial expressions of frustration showing as I fiddled with buttons and equipment.

"What the fuck is this?" Kyle asked, mildly surprised but not annoyed. He probably thought I had mixed up the tapes or something.

"This is a video I made," I replied slowly, calmly. "I know it isn't what you came over to see, but I worked really hard on it. It isn't that long."

On the TV screen, I finished setting up the camera. I walked deliberately farther from it so my entire body fit in the frame. I watched myself lower my hood and smile.

"_Hey, guys. So… remember when we were kids, and we played superheroes? Remember how we used to pretend we had powers? I used to try and show you my power—how I could never die. But that's something I know you don't remember at all."_

Kyle was confused, as I guessed he would be.

"What the fuck…?" He mumbled under his breath, but he never stopped watching.

"_I hope this time…"_ I watched myself pull a handgun from my pocket. _"You'll remember."_ With a deafening crack, the bullet smashed into my temple, spraying blood everywhere and killing me instantly.

Sitting in the room watching my suicide, Kyle let out a strange, guttural gasp of shock. I just smiled.

The camera died at that point. It had probably run out of batteries, I don't know. When I woke up in my bed and went to fetch it, it had run out of juice. But I had fixed it after that, so the tape didn't end there. After a few moments of static, my face once again appeared with a plain, cracked white wall in the background.

"_If this is Kyle, you're probably thinking of all the ways I could have faked that. You're thinking, 'there's no way. He's playing a sick prank on me,' or something. If this is Stan… well, you're probably just sitting there in dumb shock."_

I looked so peaceful in the video. My face was calm and my voice was kind. No matter what, I just couldn't get mad at my friends for forgetting my countless deaths.

"_But I didn't fake it. I would show you in person, but you always forget. I hope that after this video, you'll realize… But then again, I'm happy you don't remember, sometimes… after all, I like to think that you guys would cry if you knew how often I'm dying. But I hate to see you guys sad. If you cried over me… in a sick way, I hope you would… well, I think I like the idea of it more than anything. Please don't get too upset. I just couldn't go on dying quietly anymore. I at least need you guys to realize… that's all I want."_

I watched myself grab the camera with a trembling, blood-drenched hand. The footage shook terribly as I held it to my face.

"_I've slashed both my wrists this time. Can you see all the blood?"_

The shaking camera caught glimpses of crimson staining the carpet and my orange parka. I held the lens over my left wrist as it leaked and gushed. When I pointed the camera back to my face, I noticed how pale and delicate I seemed.

"_I don't have much longer now. But don't worry, I'll be around… I'm probably watching this video with you right now."_

I heard Kyle let out a little noise, like a sob. I hadn't turned to see his reaction yet, and I still didn't want to. It might make me regret everything. I was numb, but it was just a farce; I was desperately trying to keep my silent cool as I revealed the greatest secret of my life to one of the most important people in my life. But as I attempted to keep my mind blank, my video self was weakly laughing, a sincere smile on my bloodless lips.

"_Before I pass out, I just want you guys to know… I love you. Seriously… no homo."_

I saw myself grin widely as my violently quaking hand reached for the off switch on the handheld. After the camera clicked off, the footage ended. The TV fell into static.

Kyle and I sat in silence. I wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing appropriate. I couldn't even look at him. I heard him sniffle, and my heart sank. I didn't know what I was hoping for; I was happy he was reacting, but at the same time, did I really want to see him crying over me?

"You… fucking asshole!" Kyle yelled with a broken voice as he smacked me in the back of the head. I finally turned to look at him. His face was saturated with salty tears, his nose stuffed and nearly dripping. Through my guilt for causing his distress, I couldn't help but think how cute he looked with his pink face and crinkled brow. "What the fuck was _that_? How dare you?"

"I'm sorry." It was all I could manage.

"That isn't fucking funny!" He threw anything he could get his hands on, absolutely furious. "How could you possibly think that would be a good joke? Are fucking sick in the head?"

My eyes were blank. So, he didn't believe me after all. "It wasn't a joke. I'm not laughing." My tone was hollow, lifeless. As I lifted my hood over my head and tugged the drawstrings, closing my face to the world, I wished I had my pistol in my pocket. That way, I could end this and wake up in my bed, and Kyle wouldn't remember a thing.

"You make me sick, Kenny. Fucking sick!" As Kyle scrambled to grab his shoes, fumbling with the laces, I made my way very deliberately to the dresser by the door. I slowly pulled the top drawer open, revealing the contents. A single pistol was laying there, an old friend. I picked it up silently.

I opened the chamber easily. I was used to the gun. It was one of my favorite possessions, always there for me, always ready to help me escape. It had one bullet left. That was enough.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, suddenly afraid. He was so much quieter when he was scared.

"Don't worry," I said without emotion. "I'm fixing things. You won't remember this."

"Are you insane?" Kyle practically whispered, his legs trembling as he dropped his shoes and took a few cautious steps in my direction. "Kenny, hang on. Talk to me."

"Talk about what?" I laughed coldly. "I've said all I wanted. You replied, and now I know how you feel. So, you don't believe me. You hate me for making you see something gross. Now I'm taking care of it. With this, everything will go back to how it was before."

"Kenny," Kyle held out one desperate hand. "If you put that gun to your head, you will die. Don't do this to yourself. Don't do this to everyone."

I smiled. "Trust me, Kyle. It's for your sake." I lifted the gun and placed it nicely on my temple, right where it belonged. The pressure of the chamber on my head felt right, comforting. I shut my eyes, a light smile hidden by my parka, and felt the smooth trigger with my index finger.

Kyle fell to his knees. "For the love of God, Kenny!" He sobbed, his hands hiding the anguish on his face. "Please, please, please…"

I paused. I know I shouldn't have; I should have just ignored him and did the deed, sending everything back to its default. I would once again be good-old Kenny, Kyle and Stan's close friend, always down for a good time. I would have ended Kyle's suffering with that last bullet, whether he knew that or not. But his sudden sobs of despair made me stop.

"I believe you," Kyle managed to choke out through tears. "I fucking believe you, so please… don't do it."

I dropped the gun. Kyle scrambled on the floor to grab it before I could change my mind. "Do you really mean that?" I asked quietly through my hood. Kyle continued to cry, clinging to the gun like it would somehow spring out of his grip if he didn't hold it tight enough. I slowly stepped towards him, but he turned from me, thinking I was after the gun again. I sighed. "I won't do it, Kyle. I promise. I'm sorry. Give it back so I can put it away; it's dangerous to hold it."

"N-No…" He shook his head frantically and refused to even let me see it.

My heart broke as one of my best friends in the world wept, terrified I would kill myself and never return. He was terrified of the gun, but even more terrified of what I could possibly do with it. "Okay, okay. At least put it away, please. I don't want you to hold it."

Kyle nodded meekly. With trembling legs, he managed to stow the pistol back in its original spot in my top dresser drawer. Only a moment after he had shut the drawer, he collapsed into sobs again, unable to even stand. I tugged my hood off my head, hoping he could see the pain in my expression. I didn't know how to console him, so I did the only thing I could think of and fell next to him, pulling his shaking body into an embrace.

"I'm sorry, Kyle," I whispered, "I'm so sorry." I regretted many things—revealing my secret, making him cry— but most of all I hated myself for not having the courage to clean up my mess and pull that damn trigger.

"I believe you," he muttered while clinging to me, his tears staining my parka. "I believe you, so don't go."

I couldn't cry. No matter what, I just couldn't bring myself to shed the tears I desperately needed to let go of. As long as he was in my arms—as long as he needed me—I would never allow myself to break down. "I'll never leave you, Kyle. Never."

I didn't know if Kyle would remember this tomorrow. Maybe the tape wouldn't work, and he would go back to ignorant bliss. Maybe my curse has no loopholes, and the rest of the world will always peacefully be blind to my eternity of death. If so, it's fine. Because no matter what, I will always remember how Kyle clung to me, weeping at the thought of never seeing me again. I just wanted him to know everything—how I died, over and over, but more importantly, how through all my deaths I would never, ever leave him.

I love him too much to want to die forever.


	8. Eyes

Kenny is, for lack of a better word, a slut.

It's not a secret from anyone. No one hates him for it; it's just always been a part of him. Since we were in elementary school, he's been chasing skirts. It was only when he got older—we're seventeen now—that his interest spread to guys. I guess he realized something: no matter what's going on downstairs, everyone has a mouth and a hole somewhere. That's good enough for him.

He's one of the most sexual human beings I have ever met. As his good friend, I know more than anyone how many people he's been with. Despite that, I find myself staring too long when he sucks on those stupid lollipops, his newest diversion from cigarettes. I find myself memorizing each muscle and curve under his tattered, dull orange hoodie. I've never looked at a guy that way before in my life, but he's different.

He's dangerous.

* * *

Immediately after entering the room, I rolled my eyes.

_There he is again,_ I thought,_ kissing some new girl… again_. She couldn't be the first of the night. She was probably thinking she was lucky to have that tongue down her throat. She was probably thoroughly enjoying the feeling of his chapped lips, his stubbled jaw, and the smell of his blond ruffled hair. And she should feel fucking awesome. It's not like she was conquering untouched territory, but she was damn lucky anyway. The things that tongue can do are astounding.

I watched him in action, somehow amazed. She was leaning into him desperately, craving everything he had to offer, obviously enjoying herself immensely. His tongue clashed with hers greedily, the aggression only pausing so he could suck gently on her pink lips. I felt as though I should know who the girl is; she obviously goes to our high school, but I just couldn't place her face. I couldn't really look at her at all. The only things I saw were the movement of his lips and the slight coloration in his cheeks. His eyes, a lighter blue than mine, were tightly shut as he focused on the kiss. Mine were so glued to the scene in front of me that they began to dry.

His lids slid open slowly, as if his concept of time was muddled by the sweet taste of the girl straddling his lap. I wanted to see the color of those eyes. When I finally did, it took me a moment to realize that his engorged pupils were staring right at me. Just like that, my muscles could move again, and the spell was broken. Time restarted. I turned and walked back the way I came without hesitation.

The sound of the party came crashing down. Everyone was laughing and yelling, drinking as freely as high schoolers can and crave. At that point, I had lost sight of most of my friends long ago. Knowing Kyle, he was drinking himself under a table while insisting he's absolutely fine and bustling around the party looking for valuables and sick people to save from danger. Cartman was probably setting something on fire in the backyard or puking. Wendy and Token were probably hooking up somewhere. Clyde was dancing on the table with Sharpie marks all over his bare chest. The only other person I saw was Bebe, who locked onto me and pounced, despite what I wanted.

"Hey, Stan!" Bebe grabbed me by the neck and clinged. I hugged her back out of courtesy, uncomfortable.

"Hey, Bebe," I responded, my voice not slurring at all. I had only had two beers that night.

"Why do you look saaaaaad?"

Ugh, she was drunk. "I'm not, Bebe."

"Yeeesss… you have a big frown," she whined, miming a frown. If that's really what I looked like, then I obviously couldn't hide my emotions well.

"No, really, I'm fine."

"Should I make you feel better?" She asked honestly, her hand cupping my cheek softly. Bebe was a good friend. She had a bad reputation, but she honestly didn't have any bad intentions or mean any harm. I knew she really did want to make me feel better; sadly, for her, there's only one way to do that.

I smiled just to make her back off a little. "I'm fine, really. Can you check on Clyde? He's a mess."

"Okay!" Bebe grinned a little too excitedly. Before I could push her off, she kissed me. But it wasn't really a romantic kiss at all; it was more like a sloppy pressing together of two pairs of lips. I was surprised, but it didn't ruffle my feathers. It was just her drunken way of saying goodbye. After stumbling off me, she wobbled off to find Clyde, still grinning.

"So, Bebe, huh?"

I cringed as I heard a familiar smug voice behind me. I turned slowly, knowing Kenny fucking McCormick would be leaning on the wall, arms crossed and entire existence dripping with sex.

"Here I thought something was wrong, and you're just busy sucking some face."

I stared at him as if I were bored. "Speak for yourself. Where's the girl you were hooking up with?"

Kenny shrugged. "She felt sick. A friend is taking care of her."

"Poor girl."

"Yeah, seriously; I was gonna fuck her so hard—"

"She's probably puking, Ken. Be a little sensitive."

He smiled lightly. "Heh. That's more your thing," he drawled in that light southern accent he inherited from his mother. It only really came out when he was drinking; otherwise he hid it perfectly. Lazily, he leaned his head to the side slightly as if he were sizing me up. I felt a little self-conscious, but I tried not to show it.

I couldn't help feeling weird after he kept staring at me. "What?"

"C'mere."

Kenny grabbed my wrist and began walking without another word. I didn't question him and followed. Like a veteran of the drunken scene—which I knew he was—Kenny navigated us through the crowd easily, eventually sneaking the door to the dining room open. Somehow, we slipped in undetected. Kyle had been practically frothing at the mouth earlier trying to keep everyone out of that room; it had too much china in it for his comfort, and if adults found out about this kind of thing, Kyle would experience the worst punishment, even if the party was at Token's house. The dining room was pitch black, but we could tell there was no one else in there but us.

The moment I shut the door behind me, Kenny seized my jaw with his hand and found my lips. I fell back against the door, startled, and Kenny used my unsteadiness to his advantage as I knew he would. His arms leaned on either side of me, pinning me between them as his knee dug into the crotch of my pants. I felt his tongue lick my lips before he fiercely shoved into my mouth.

I felt the chapped lips, the stubble, and tasted the alcohol. But all I could think about were the pink lips of that girl—and mine as a replacement for hers.

With enough force to send him stumbling back, I shoved him. "What the fuck, Kenny?"

"What?" He asked, offended. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking about this."

"You have no idea what I think."

"Oh, but I do." Kenny picked himself up with ease and stepped towards me. Knowing I could easily shove him again, he kept a short distance. "You saw me with her. You looked devastated. Jealous, even."

"I did not!" I lamely retorted. "Fuck you!" I grasped for the doorknob, but Kenny tore my hand away from it.

"What's the fucking problem?" He forcefully turned me to face him again. "It's not like this is the first time I've kissed you."

I glared. Like that mattered at all. "I don't want to taste anyone else on your tongue. It's disgusting."

His eyes widened, and he was speechless for a moment. "Oh," he drawled, his tone venomous. "You find me revolting, huh?"

I was a little scared of his new mood. He was twisting my words, but I didn't want to go on the defensive. I refused. "I'm not another one of your fucks, Kenny."

He raised his eyebrows. "Let me get this straight." Kenny was sarcastic and passive aggressive when he was angry. It annoyed me. "You think my mouth is gross and full of germs, so you don't want to kiss me. You say that now, yet you were totally fine with my mouth when it was sucking your dick last week."

My jaw dropped. I hadn't anticipated he would be so brash. "That's—"

"Whenever it comes to something you thoroughly enjoy, like a blowjob behind the band room during lunch, you have no fucking problems. But when I want to do something that feels good for me—like, kissing, or I dunno, at least a fucking handjob—you think it's gross. I think I'm noticing a little imbalance here."

"You did that voluntarily!" I exclaimed, thinking he made me sound like more of a jerk than I was. "Just like you voluntarily fuck everything that moves! I don't want to be that, Kenny. I don't want to be one of those idiots who follows you around like a lost puppy, hoping for attention and orgasms. You have at least five people trying to get in your pants at once, and you let them, every single fucking time. So what, I'm supposed to be so complimented and ecstatic when you want to screw me?"

"What, are you saying that you want to be special or something?"

I was tongue-tied and blushing like a fool because I couldn't deny it.

I hate him. I fucking hate him.

Finally, his bad mood broke. He laughed loudly, completely ignoring my mortification. Kenny has a sadistic side that pisses me off to no end. "That's fucking adorable. You think you _aren't_ special, Stan?"

I blinked stupidly. "What?"

"Come on. I gave you a blowjob at school and swallowed your cum. Do you think I like that? Do you think your spooge tastes like strawberries, or something?"

No, but my face matched the shade of a strawberry easily.

"I did it because I like you, you idiot. Scratch that; I love you. I mean, we've been friends since forever. How could I treat you like some casual fuck? I did it because you wanted me to, and I wanted to make you feel good. I love you and will do what it takes to make you happy. Apparently, you want me. I make you happy. So I've been trying to give you me, Stan."

I wasn't quite buying it. "But you were making out with some random chick, Kenny. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Yes, I do," he quipped. "I didn't think you wanted me anymore. I was feeling like shit, Stan. I gave you a blowjob, you enjoyed it, and that was the end of it! You didn't do or want anything else from me! So yeah, I was feeling like a common whore who had been used by a friend for kicks, and it felt like shit. I wanted to forget, so I made out with some girl on the couch. But then I saw the look in your eyes, and, well… I ditched her."

"You ditched her?"

Kenny smiled sheepishly, a little ashamed. "Yeah, she's fine. I basically just left her hanging on the couch and went chasing after you."

"But you said—"

"I lied."

"And Bebe—"

"That's just how she is. I'm not sweating it."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Kenny looked embarrassed, but not nearly as much as I did, I'm sure. His light blue eyes were shadowed by his large pupils, a reaction to the dark dining room we were tucked away in. He watched my face carefully, his gaze falling since he was a little taller than me. Somehow, despite growing up on Pop Tarts for dinner, he had managed to tower over almost everyone else in our class. I looked up at him silently and pretended not to notice when he scooted closer to me as I leaned against the door.

"Do you have any other complaints before I kiss you?"

I frowned lightly as I spotted a fading hickey on his neck. I reached up and lightly brushed it with my fingers as Kenny waited, hoping I didn't shove him again. "I don't want to see any more of these…"

Kenny grinned. "Only if they're from you. Got it."

I closed my eyes as those chapped lips found mine.

* * *

LOL IT'S MORE STENNY

which I love.

I like it better than K2. Why doesn't it get more love? I think Stan is way more blushing and embarrassed than Kyle ever could be, even though that's how the cute kosher boy is usually painted in K2. Still, I like them both well enough. I appreciate.

This could have been dirty, but I got lazy. I wrote this in one night when I had plenty of other shit I could have been doing. T_T

uuuggghhhhh everything I write must include Kennyyyyyy... NEXT TIME IT WILL BE STYLE I SWEAR

thanks for reading!


	9. Smile

"Put it in already!" Stan whispered hurriedly, his face dripping with sweat as lube dripped down between his legs. He was getting desperate. It was obvious in the way he begged.

"I don't want to hurt you," Gary said, trying to be as gentle as possible.

"For fuck's sake…" Stan mumbled softly, "I need you to do it _now_."

Although he appreciated Gary's consideration—it was that sweetness that had won him over in the first place—he was getting pretty fucking tired of it at the moment. With the part of his brain still able to function at a time like this, Stan wondered if Gary wasn't teasing him by being so gentle, especially since it wasn't like this was the first time they had done this. Sure, Gary was the only one who knew Stan was gay, but once that was out in the open, they hadn't held back with one another physically.

Since the very first time Gary had taken him, Stan couldn't get enough.

"Fuck… just fucking GIVE IT TO ME!"

Stan usually tried to keep from swearing around Gary. But when he was naked, erect, and moaning for penetration, Gary found it extremely arousing.

"Oh, God! Yes!" Stan gritted his teeth as Gary slid in. It wasn't too painful; Gary had been very thorough in preparation.

Gary looped one arm around Stan's waist, resting the other hand on his face lightly. "Ugh… Stan…" he whispered his name quietly, shutting his eyes so he could focus on the feeling of being inside the one he loved and the warmth of the flush on his cheek.

Gary was always gentle to start. The same treatment did not apply further down the line.

Stan felt tears well up as Gary's pace picked up. He wasn't complaining; the reason he had rushed things was because he couldn't wait—the pain was always accompanied by an irresistible sense of… well, Stan couldn't describe it in any other manner than _fullness._

Stan's mouth dropped open as a jolt ran through his body. "Fuck! Ah… right there… again…"

Gary smiled, kissed him, and moved in the same exact manner, finding the right spot with ease. He adored the sound Stan made underneath him. He wanted to make him yell and beg, but he would never admit that to anyone. It was too awful for a Mormon to say aloud. Nevertheless, he knew exactly how to go about coaxing that adorable, gravelly voice into a scream.

Gary took the hand resting on Stan's cheek and reached down, grabbing his erection with just enough pressure.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck… Gary… ugh…"

Gary grinned. It was music to his ears.

"Keep going… fuck, just like that… oh God…!" Stan was easy to please today. His suspicion before was correct—Gary had been teasing him, though that had been just a happy plus to the necessary chore of preparing for anal sex. The kissing, sucking, and fingering had left Stan so wound up that he had nearly climaxed during the foreplay.

Now, with Gary fucking him so hard that cognitive function was impossible—not to mention the matched pace of Gary's hand pumping away at his front—it was impossible for Stan to _not_ reach orgasm.

"FUCK!" Stan screamed, his cum splattering between their bodies.

Gary furrowed his brows and kept going, his body trembling as he felt the contractions from Stan's climax. With Stan sweating and panting beneath him, and the sudden tightness he felt with each thrust, Gary was losing his mind.

"…S-Stan!" Gary called out to his loved one as he came. Stan reached up and grabbed his hair, bringing him into a deep kiss as they came down from their natural high. Gary smiled, separating his lips only enough to let a few words slip past them: "I love you."

* * *

a little Stan x Gary (the Mormon kid) smut for a friend.

this was fun and a quick, relaxing drabble.


End file.
